Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 227
The Eye of Terror had haunted mankind for thousands of years, a constant reminder of the betrayal that had stillbirthed the Imperium's glory. For those few permitted to know of such things it was the refuge of the Traitor Legions, a wellspring of Daemons and a brand upon the face of the galaxy. From here Black Crusades sallied forth, met by the stalwart defenders of Cadia and the Astartes Praeses. The first and best line of defence against Chaos, may they stand to the end of time.
Such was the grim reality in realspace but in the warp it was so much worse. In a realm without borders or limits, the Eye could not be ignored, nor forgotten. Its pulsing wails stirred the immaterial currents for thousands of lightyears in all directions, bending the firmament as a black hole does gravity. Its siren wails travelled much further, impossible to shut out as an abandoned baby crying outside a locked door. Its stench polluted the depths as a rotting afterbirth and its touch was the blood spilled from a ruptured womb. If mankind could know of such things then they would sell their souls to be blind again, and those Navigators cursed to bathe in the vile sensations prayed only to have to never go near it. That prayer was not answered this day.
Falconer dove into the rolling currents, the tiny destroyer braving the tangled rapids with dauntless courage. Their target was clear, a tiny pebble on the Eye's edge, briefly exposed as the storm fronts underwent one of their periodic contractions. It could not last long, but time enough to slip in and out before they were all consumed. So recited the ship's Navigator as she sat in her sacred isolation and sweated in morbid fear.
Vitcos was blandly unaware of such matters as he stalked the corridors of his ship. The Smoke Jaguar's vessel was adorned to their tastes, dark, morbid and sepulchral. The Censors didn't seem to appreciate the dignity of death on display, but they were only passing guests. This was Vitcos' dominion and he walked as a king among vassals.
"Why plunge one's hands into the dung?" Ilquitio asked.
"My need to know is great," Vitcos sniffed.
"Needest thou to know the sensation of your skin being consumed by a burrowing tick too?" Sechura grumbled.
"Words cannot hurt me," Vitcos rejoined.
But Ilquitio snorted, "Tachna will, if he learns of this."
The trio had slipped away from their Kinsmen, with the intention to interrogate Arthra. The Eldar was locked up in a cabin on the ship, under constant guard by one of the Censors. Vitcos however was curious, and wanted to know more of the Xenos. He could say he wanted to learn the lay of the land awaiting them, or discern the nature of the dangers they would face, but it would be a lie. In truth he wanted to know the things Vendrick refused to tell them, not even the nature of their prey would pass his lips. If it was forbidden Vitcos wanted to know, the fact it would make the Censor's gore rise was a delightful bonus.
Ahead a blank door in the corridor, outside which the Censor Dhulak stood. That was good, if it was Belphian this could end very badly. Still he tensed at their approach, hand on the grip of a modified Heavy Bolter, eyeing them suspiciously.
"Halt who goes there, friend or foe?!" Dhulak called.
"Which would you prefer?" Vitcos snorted.
"It is required of me to ask," Dhulak responded.
"Has a soul ever answered foe?"
"No."
"Then you ask a question already answered."
"Be that as it may, I cannot let you pass."
"This is a ship of Copan, and I am its master. Move aside."
"He will try to deceive you."
Ilquitio cut in, "Deep in the warp sail we, where can he flee?"
Dhulak sighed, "Your ship, your rules. But he won't tell you anything useful."
Vitcos smirked in triumph as he stepped past and opened the hatch. Within lay a small chamber, sparse and tight. A minor shipwright's abode, nothing more. Arthra J'rect lounged in a threadbare chair, idly flicking through a pamphlet with one hand, while sipping from a wine goblet resting in the long fingers of the other hand. That didn't interest Vitcos so much as the animal... person... Xenos in the corner. A small creature barely a child's height, with folded skin. It was crouched in the corner, bound into a foetal position by strings of razorwire. It was weeping, for every time it shifted skin would tear and skin would flow. It tried to lay still but muscle cramps forced it to twitch and cut itself every time.
"Idle pain delights thee?" Vitcos asked they closed the hatch behind.
"It certainly is a pain to read," Arthra muttered as he closed the pamphlet, "The prose is terrible and this wine is grot-piss, but I must suffer it seems."
"Not your amusements, this... murder."
"Oh, that... nothing to fret about. The aura of pain slakes my hunger, but it's hardly my best work. Why, does it offend you?"
"A man so bound would compel me to act, but it is a Xeno, death is all it deserves."
Athra snorted in disdain, "How blunt and unimaginative your kind is. No palate for the many flavours of torment."
"Few living to torment will you find at the Eye," Vitcos noted.
But Arthra threw back his head to laugh, "Trust me, at the Eye all you will find is torment!"
Ilquitio's hands strayed to his daggers, "You plan to betray us!"
"I have no need to," Arthra snorted, "The land itself will betray us all."
"A Daemon-world," Sechura growled, "Bathed in sin."
"Yes and no," Arhtra sighed, "A Crone World to be precise."
"Which is being?" Vitcos pressed.
Arthra put down his goblet and rolled his shoulders, "Ah, that's why you're here, for information. Luckily for you I am feeling effulgent. Pull up a chair and let me tell you a tale... no... not sitting? Fine, then just stand there and listen. Ahem... long ago the Empire of the Aeldari ruled the galaxy, our merest whim could overturn suns and lesser races were our playthings. We had little need to stray far from home though, for our home was a paradise. Society supplied for every need and there was no want, no hunger, no war. Only pleasure and spiritual enlightenment... it was as you may suspect very boring."
Vitcos didn't like his smug attitude and prompted, "Calan Gaeav!"
Athra sighed, "Ah yes, Calan Gaeav, the furthest harbour. A legend in the Harlequinn dances, not that you'd appreciate their subtleties. Its name cannot be translated into your pathetic tongue but the closest approximation I can manage is: Caress of the First Wind on the Shores of the Bitter Sea."
Now it was Vitcos who smirked, "Your poetic tongue would find hearty welcome in the halls of Copan."
"Don't insult me Mon-Keigh!" Arthra snapped as his jovial mask blinked.
"Then continue," Vitcos prompted.
Athra sank back as the mask returned, "Where was I... oh yes, boredom. The Aeldari Empire was growing apathetic, the pleasure cults embraced the most violent of sensations, murder on the streets, and all those delights. Fun times. But not all agreed. Some sought more prosaic lives among the stars, or rustic retreats on the maiden worlds. And from Calan Gaeav did they set sail. Many Craftworlds departed from there with the blessings of the Wind King, many Exodite bands were blooded by his Champion before turning their backs on the Empire. It was a launching point you see, where ships and expeditions could find favourable winds for journeys across the galaxy."
"Wind King?" Ilquitio frowned
"A rude translation of a very complicated concept," Athra waved off, "Our myth-cycles sing of Trusitann, ruler of Calan Gaeav, devotee of Dromlach the Cosmic Serpent, steed of Cegorach the Laughing God. Even in those decadent times the wanderlust retained some pull on our spirit and so he gave his royal blessing to those who chose to exile themselves. Though first he demanded they face his Champion in ritual combat: Hythraal, Bloodied Knife of the Outcast Trials."
Vitcos lifted an eyebrow, "And what bearing does this have on our hunt?"
"You have no sense of suspense!" Athra groaned, "The people of Calan Gaeav were no less immune to the decadence overtaking the rest of the Aeldari. They sank into depravity and perversion. Don't get me wrong, I like depravity and perversion, but this was trouble. They twisted their worship of Dromlach, the avatar of wanderlust, into a cult of speed and thrills of dangerous competition and gambling. Then came She Who Thirsts to doom us all and in desperation the people of Calan Gaeav summoned Dromlach to wrap its cosmic coils around their world and shield them from calamity. But Cegorach was offended by the insults they had piled upon his steed and cursed them instead. To linger for all eternity, bound to one place, unable to satiate their perversions, unable to die. Their souls trapped in delirium, reliving the same nightmares on the shell of a dead planet."
"Tell us nothing of this world have you!" Vitcos snapped.
"I just did!" Athra barked, "You Mon-Keigh, so blunt you couldn't recognise the truth if it slapped you in the face!"
Sechura guessed, "Deamon-kin and wights of the underverse roam wild?"
"If Comorragh ever learns I was captured by morons like this..." Athra lamented as he placed a weary finger to his brow, "Calan Gaeav is outside the Eye, temporarily. The hosts of Chaos will be absent, but you can expect ghosts, the dead do not rest easy and will seek to claim our souls. Not that yours are worth much."
"The dead cause us no fear," Ilquitio dismissed.
"They will, they most definitely will," Athra retorted.
"And what can you tell us of Vendrick's hunt-prey?" Vitcos probed.
"Nothing," Athra shrugged.
"You lie poorly."
"You think that brute told me anything?!" Athra laughed, "He trusts me even less than he does you."
"A point he makes well," Ilquitio admitted.
"Some elusive spoor of Chaos," Vitcos guessed, "A lost relic-talisman from antiquity. A Daemonic weapon perhaps. Heresy for certain."
"Probably," Athra sniffed, "It's the kind of land you'd find traces of such things, and certainly probably safer to find samples on a world outside the Eye, but having been exposed recently enough to leave traces."
"A heathen will Vendrick hides," Vitcos concluded.
Athra leaned forward, "More than that, you can trust him less than he trusts you."
"Sow seeds of doubt you shall not," Vitcos snorted, "Vendrick is rigid to the core, Stone Eye I daub him."
"Rigid yes," Athra nodded, "But I don't mean he plans to stab you in the back, not deliberately anyway."
"Expound!"
The Eldar blew out a breath, "Where we are going will require subtle, flexibility, adaptability. We shall see sights that will bend the sanity of the most upright soul, and your friend lacks the imagination to adapt. He will not be able to reconcile the madness we shall experience and, like brittle steel, too much stress will snap him."
Vitcos glared in suspicion, "Vendrick is many things, but a turncoat he is not."
"Are you saying if it comes down to you or him, Smoke Jaguar or Censor, he would not choose his own kind?"
"I..." Vitcos gulped.
"He would forsake you," Athra insisted, "You know it to be true. He will not be able to grasp the enormity of what he sees on Calan Gaeav, his mind will break. In such moments one clings to a single aspect, and his will be his mission. And when that happens you will all become expendable."
"A Space Marine is ever ready to lay down his life for the Sun-Emperor!" Ilquitio refuted.
"That's good then, because you shall, if you don't keep your knives close to hand," Athra snorted.
Vitcos wanted to deny it, but it struck close to home. He'd seen supposedly noble heroes turn out to have feet of clay. His blood tie to Konrad Curze made that plain. Vendrick cared no more for Blazing Shadow Prowl than Huacho or Teotihuacan, or Tachna. All his life he'd been confronted by people who expected him to die, wished for it even. He'd defied them all, as he'd defied destiny itself. Vitcos would not die on Calan Gaeav, this he swore, he would survive and when he did he would demand the full power that Lazar had promised him.
Athra was still grinning knowingly but Vitcos was done. He turned on his heel and strode to the door, leaving the Eldar to call out, "Come wake me when we get there!"
"He lies," Ilquitio urged as they exited.
"Of course he does, but lies hit harder when closer to truth than falsehood," Vitcos growled.
As they left the guard to close the door Sechura asked, "So what are we to do?"
"Keep your eyes open and Obsidian blades sharp," Vitcos affirmed, "This hunt shall not be our doom, this I swear on my own blood!"